


I Get Knocked Down...

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Due to some indiscretion with evidence (or a relapse to drug-use) and some behind the scenes string-pulling or politicking in the Met, Lestrade's usage of Sherlock gets him busted down to sergeant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Get Knocked Down...

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt over five years ago on the kink meme (part IV!) which I [filled at the time](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/7815.html?thread=35792263#t35792263) but never transferred here until now. Sudden resurgence of Gregson/Lestrade feelings reminded me of it, since there's a scene between them in this.
> 
> In today's fic, the part of DI Toby Gregson will be played by [Mr James Wilby](http://wastingyourgum.tumblr.com/post/139129840233/lestrade-and-gregson-are-the-pick-of-a-bad-lot).

Donovan jumped to her feet as Lestrade came back into his office after his meeting with the Superintendent. "Well? How bad is it?"

"You're fine. Probably just a written warning. Be off your record in six months."

"And you?"

Lestrade started collecting files together from his desk. "Gregson's taking over the case. You'll report to him."

"They didn't suspend you, did they? Bloody freak - this is all his fault."

"No, it's mine too for calling him in and not keeping closer tabs on him. They've overlooked things before but as soon as Lord What's-'is-face got involved this one got blown out of all proportion - friends in high places apparently - and he didn't take kindly to Sherlock outing his son as a major drug-dealer in front of all those wedding guests."

"Bloody hell."

"Still, at least we can get the little toerag on attempted murder for trying to throttle Sherlock. CPS says all the drugs charges are inadmissible after Sherlock broke into his flat and personally sampled the wares." Lestrade opened a drawer and took some things out, shoving them in his pockets. "Who knew chemical analysis would hold up better in court than testimony from an actual user?" he added, sarcastically.

"So how long will you be out for, Sir?"

"I'm not suspended."

"I thought you said--"

"And you don't need to call me 'Sir'."

"What? You don't mean...?"

"'Fraid so. Effective immediately."

"They can't do that, can they? Just like that?"

Lestrade laughed bitterly. "It's not 'just like that', Sally. I've been on a final warning for months now. I guess this was just the straw that broke the proverbial." He looked around and grabbed his jacket from the back of what had been his chair. "Pity. I like this office." He sighed then threw on his jacket and opened the door. "Right. I don't know about you," he said with false joviality. "But I could do with a drink or seven..."

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John had just ducked under the tape and were heading for the abandoned building's door when their path was blocked by the considerable obstacle of D.I. Toby Gregson. Lestrade was right behind him.

 _Must be serious if they're both here_ , John thought.

Gregson was not welcoming. "What are you doing here, Holmes?"

Sherlock ignored him and spoke to Lestrade. "I popped into the Yard to talk to you about yesterday's murder and was told there'd been another. Thought I might survey the scene before your Forensics idiots obliterate it entirely."

Gregson folded his arms across his chest and grinned nastily. "Sergeant, escort these men away from my crime scene - and make sure they don't come back."

John looked round for Donovan. He thought she'd been one of the group he'd seen further over by a burnt-out car. It took his brain a good few seconds to catch up when he saw Lestrade holding his arm out and gesturing to the line of tape behind them. Gregson was already heading back towards the building.

"Sorry, Sherlock. You'll have to go. You too, John," Lestrade said.

They both found their voices at the same time. " _Sergeant_?" John said. "What do you mean ' _go_ '?" Sherlock blustered.

"It's not my call any more." Lestrade paused and when Sherlock showed no signs of budging, he added, "Please."

"Sherlock..." John tugged at his arm but Sherlock shook him off angrily and jabbed his finger into Lestrade's chest.

"This is the third body this week! You need for me for this one."

Lestrade grabbed Sherlock's finger and flung his hand away from him. "No, Sherlock, no - I don't need you for anything. I'm not in charge here, Gregson is. I'm not even meant to be here except we've got a few people out with the flu."

Donovan had spotted them and came storming over. "You've got a bloody nerve!"

John saw her hand go up to hit Sherlock but Lestrade caught her wrist. "Leave it, Sally."

She looked at him in amazement. "Leave it? _Leave it?_ He's buggered up your whole career and you're telling me to leave it?"

"Yes. The last thing I need is you getting carpeted for assaulting a member of the public."

"Carpeted? _Commended_ is more like it. D'you have any idea of the number of people who'd like to pop him one on your behalf?"

Sherlock ignored her. "They demoted you," he stated. "Why?"

" _Why_?" Donovan shrieked. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?" She lunged for Sherlock again.

"Donovan!" Lestrade snapped as he held her back. "Get back over to that car and make sure all the evidence has been tagged properly."

Sally glared at Sherlock but she dropped her arms and stepped back.

"Please, Sally. I can't order you but I'd really appreciate it," Lestrade said, much more quietly.

Sally's belligerent attitude deflated right in front of their eyes as she turned to Lestrade. "Sorry, Sir. I mean, Sarge. I'll... Yeah." She walked back to the car without looking back.

"Does this mean there won't be any more of those ridiculous drugs busts?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock!" John hissed.

Lestrade just gave a tired laugh. "No, no more drugs busts - unless Gregson orders them, but that's not his style." Lestrade held up the tape for them to duck under. "Now please, you two - bugger off. You know Toby won't let you on any of his crime scenes. He's not as soft as me."

Sherlock humphed and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Fine. Come on, John." He swirled around and strode off.

John hesitated. "Lestrade, I..." What could he say?

"It's alright, John. Not your fault. Not entirely his either."

"Are we still on for drinks tomorrow?"

"The Friday night grumble? Sure. No reason for that to change. See you then. Unless something comes up of course."

John nodded and chased after Sherlock. He found him round the corner surveying a fire escape. "Now what?"

"The gap between this building and that is only about six feet. We should easily be able to jump it."

"What? Sherlock! Are you... Didn't you hear Lestrade?"

"I have to see that body, John."

"You'll get him sacked!"

"Why? If he's no longer in charge..."

"He's in charge of making sure you don't get into the crime scene. Gregson gave him a direct order. You get caught in there and it's another black mark against Lestrade. For God's sake, Sherlock, he's already on thin ice and you're going at it with a pick!"

"I won't get caught then. Happy?"

"No. You come back home with me right now or... I'll go tell Lestrade what you're planning and he'll arrest you."

Sherlock stared at him as if he'd grown another head. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Weren't you listening? Fine. Let's use some facts since you're so fond of those. What's the annual salary for a D.I. with the Met?"

John wasn't at all surprised when Sherlock immediately answered, "Approximately forty-eight to fifty-two thousand pounds."

"And for a D.S?"

"Thirty six to forty-one thousand."

"So that means Lestrade probably just took a..." John did some swift mental arithmetic. "About a twenty percent pay cut... Shit. Really?"

"You're a little off. Assuming top pay bands in each case, it's about twenty-one point--"

"Sherlock!"

"They'll reinstate him. It's just a slap on the wrist. He's wasted as a Sergeant."

John boggled at the unexpected compliment but swiftly carried on. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear you say that but that's not the point. I know you pay no attention to things like politics but those of us who have to live in the real world are feeling the pinch about now. The Met's budget and staffing levels are getting seriously squeezed - wouldn't surprise me if they're looking for some excuse to ditch Lestrade altogether and replace him with someone they don't need to pay as much and with a smaller pension."

"That's outrageously short-sighted."

"Yeah well, these are the same people who think that what the NHS needs is more managers and less doctors."

"Oh - is that why you've been unable to find work recently?"

"Partly, yes."

Sherlock mulled this information over for a moment then, to John's great relief, he stepped towards the street and hailed a taxi.

"Where are we going?"

"Home. I need to think about this..."

* * *

 

John hadn't looked forward to Friday so much for a long time.

"So how's his Highness doing, anyway?" Lestrade asked as he returned to the table with their third round.

"Oh, God," John sighed. "You'd think it had been two years and not two weeks the way he goes on about it."

"I bet he was fizzing we managed to get that bloke without him."

"Of course. Said he could have had it wrapped up in ten minutes not ten days."

"Shame he's probably right - but Gregson's adamant. Sherlock is still very much persona non grata - and the other D.I.'s will follow Gregson's lead."

"Any idea how long before you get back?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Took me twelve years to get promoted the first time - and that was without the spectacularly blemished record. I think this is me until I retire."

"And they cut your pay as well?"

"Yeah, I'll be on a diet of Pot Noodles and cornflakes from now on if I want to make my mortgage payments. Final salary pension isn't nearly so attractive as it once was either."

"God, I'm sorry, Lestrade. It's really not fair."

"Yeah, well... We all know about 'fair', don't we?"

They both took a long pull at their drinks.

"Must be a bit weird for Donovan," John commented.

"She's fine. I was 'Sarge' to her when she first joined. She just has to remember that she's a Sarge now too." Lestrade chuckled at a sudden thought. "God - imagine if they finally promote her and I have to call her 'Boss' - that'll be awkward."

"I bet Toby Gregson's delighted at you having to call him 'Sir'."

Lestrade shrugged. "He's made a few jokes but for all the mouth on him Gregson's not really a bad sort. I don't think he gets any genuine pleasure in rubbing it in. We've been slagging each other off for years now and all of a sudden I'm not allowed to answer back. I think he's more disappointed than anything else." Lestrade grinned into his pint glass. "And poor young Dimmock doesn't know where to look when he sees me. Called him 'Sir' this morning - he went scarlet to his earlobes." He drained the rest of his drink. "Same again?"

"Sure - I'll get it."

"Don't be daft. My pay's still better than your dole money."

"Yep, but this is Sherlock's card." John held it out for Lestrade to see.

Lestrade burst out laughing. "That makes a nice change! In that case, I'll have a whisky chaser as well while you're up..."

* * *

 

John hung his coat up and trudged wearily up the stairs. Lestrade had seemed bright enough but John could tell the demotion had hit him hard. He opened the door to 221B and was surprised to see his chair already occupied. "Hello, Mycroft. What brings you here? More M.O.D. missing property?"

"Good evening, John - and no, I was invited," Mycroft replied. He looked extremely smug, even by his own usual high standards.

Sherlock plucked viciously at his violin but didn't comment.

"Sadly it appears I have had a wasted trip. Sherlock seems to think I can simply click my fingers and re-arrange the entire universe according to his needs."

"For God's sake, Mycroft, I'm not asking you to make him Mayor," Sherlock burst out.

"You are asking me to ignore a very rigid structure of rules and regulation obeyed by thousands of people purely to suit your own selfish ends. It would be grossly unfair both to his colleagues and to Lestrade himself to have him re-instated as if nothing had happened."

"Unfair to Lestrade?"

"He sets great store by his reputation. If he felt he was only in his current position due to influence being exerted on his behalf he would be most upset, particualrly if that was the view of the people around him as well. I suspect were I to arrange things as you asked, Lestrade might very well hand in his resignation rather than accept the undeserved promotion."

"Hardly undeserved," John interrupted.

"Perhaps not," Mycroft conceded. "But we so rarely get what we deserve, don't we?"

"So you won't help?" Sherlock snarled. "I finally come to you with a perfectly reasonable request and you won't get off your fat backside to help the man who's been doing a better job than you of your fraternal duties for the past five years?"

Mycroft blinked. John knew him well enough by now to see this as the equivalent of a step back in shock as that last remark hit home.

"I can't decide if it's petty jealousy or just sheer laziness on your part, Mycroft. Probably a mixture of the two," Sherlock added.

"I will not break the rules to fix a problem caused by you breaking those self same rules in the first place. It was predominantly _your_ actions - and his collusion in them - that led to disciplinary procedures being taken against Lestrade. Any further interference by our family can only do more harm than good." Mycroft's voice was as calm as ever but his grip on his umbrella handle had tightened considerably. "I deeply regret Lestrade's situation--"

Sherlock scoffed.

"I deeply regret Lestrade's situation," Mycroft repeated. "but I cannot just wave my hand and make it all go away."

"You _won't_ , you mean."

"No, I can't - this is not like your... previous problem."

"John knows about the drugs." Sherlock said quietly.

"Ah?" Mycroft looked at John in surprise. "Probably for the best. But as I said, this is not like that situation. It's not just you, Sherlock. Other people - whole other organisations - are affected. I'm sorry."

"Oh, I bet you are." Sherlock sneered.

Looking at Mycroft as he left, John wouldn't have taken that bet...

* * *

 

"G'night, Sarge."

"Night, Hopkins. See you tomorrow." Lestrade waved a hand in the young constable's direction and returned to his paperwork. He'd only got through a few more files before he was interrupted again.

"You still here, Stradey?"

"No, Sir. I'm a figment of your over-tired imagination."

Gregson sat down heavily in a nearby chair. "My imagination usually comes up with better than your ugly ferret-face."

"At least my face is still under a good thick head of hair, not like your balding blond barnet... Sir."

"Emphasis on 'thick' - and for fuck's sake, drop the 'Sir', Greg. It's just us."

Lestrade looked up. The office was deserted. He put his pen down and rubbed his eyes.

Gregson stretched his long legs in front of him and laced his fingers together behind his head. "I warned you about Holmes. I said he was trouble."

"Told-you-so time, is it? Well you can shove it. I knew what I was doing. I'm a big boy."

"That's a lie - I've seen you in the showers."

"Fuck off," Lestrade said, without any real malice.

"So was it worth it, Greg? Chucking your career away for a posh boy with a big gob, a bigger ego and the world's largest sense of entitlement?"

Lestrade looked his colleague squarely in the eye. "Abso-fucking-lutey. He helped me catch some of the nastiest bastards out there and you and everybody else know that."

"Yeah, 'spose I do. Rather you than me though, mate."

"Yeah well I haven't got an ex-wife with expensive tastes to support or else I'd probably have reconsidered."

Gregson groaned. "Don't remind me. Bitch is fleecing me for every penny."

"Shocking - and it was only the three times you cheated on her as well."

"Now they were worth it. You didn't even get a decent shag out of Holmes."

Lestrade made mock vomiting noises. "Ugh - for Christ's sake, Toby - I just ate a short while ago!"

"That's another lie. Come on, I'll stand you a kebab." Gregson stood up and waited as Lestrade collected coat, keys, phone, files and other necessities. He nudged the shorter man as they headed for the lift. "I bet you wouldn't've said no if he'd offered though..."

"You are kidding, right?" Lestrade winked. "I'd've fucked him into next week."

Gregson laughed and slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over in the process. "That's the spirit, Stradey..."

* * *

 

Lestrade sat later in his small, sparsely furnished flat, staring at the wall.

It _was_ worth it. Greater good and all that. The needs of the many...

_Great. I'm quoting fucking Star Trek now..._

He looked at the scattering of files on his coffee table and noticed one he didn't remember bringing home.

_Where'd that come from?_

It appeared to be a fairly standard report on a group of animal rights activists in Surrey suspected of sending threats. Lestrade quickly skimmed through it and one of the names rang a vague bell. Not a particularly unusual name but he'd seen it somewhere else recently. Where was it?

Three hours later he drove back into work to do some double-checking. Two hours after that he had the biggest bust of his career sitting in his lap...

* * *

 

John flicked the television on, tossed the remote onto the sofa beside him and sat down to catch up on the news while he ate his breakfast.

"...a last minute penalty denying the defending champions their second piece of silverware this season. Now, back to our main story - a dawn raid at an address in Surrey this morning led to four arrests and the seizure of a large quantity of bomb-making equipment. Preliminary investigations suggest the suspects target was the forthcoming wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton..."

"Sherlock!"

"What? I'm in the middle of something here."

"Did you know anything about this?

"About what?"

"A bomb threat to the Royal Wedding."

"No. When is it?"

"When...? It's in a month's time, Sherlock. Wills and Kate? We get an extra day's holiday? Well, ordinary people get an extra day's holiday."

"Oh. Yet another thing to play havoc with the traffic. Joy." Sherlock stomped back into the kitchen.

"Wait, Sherlock - look!"

The Police Commissioner was giving a statement outside New Scotland Yard. As the camera panned back, a familiar shock of grey hair appeared on the left of the screen. "... the breakthrough in the case was made by Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Serious Crimes Squad. D.I. Lestrade is a highly regarded officer and a fine example of the dedicated men and women of the Metropolitan Police Service."

"Oh Inspector again now, is it? How do you like that?" John waved his teaspoon at the screen. "They can't admit they busted him down to Sergeant when he's just pulled off something like this, can they?"

Sherlock had a small quirk to his lips that could almost be called a smile "No, they can't."

Someone in the gaggle of microphones asked. "Will you be going to the wedding, Inspector?"

"Umm, no, I'll probably be working that day," Lestrade's gravelly tones replied. "I'm already looking forward to getting back to it actually."

"I bet he is." John grinned. "Until you show up anyway..."

"Nonsense - he'll be delighted to see me. I think I'll pop down there this afternoon and congratulate him."

"You really think he's going to welcome you back with open arms like nothing's happened?"

"Nothing has happened, John. Lestrade is in his office, God is in his heaven..." Sherlock sniffed the air. "My baboon's stomach is just coming to the boil and all is right with the world."

For extremely odd definitions of right, thought John - and then another thought struck him. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Is Mycroft likely to be involved with the Royal Wedding arrangements?"

"Probably - it's the kind of opportunity to show off he can't resist."

John counted to ten in his head. He'd only got as far as three when--

"Damn. I'm going to have to actually thank the fat fart, aren't I?"

"Yep." John replied, gleefully...


End file.
